


reincarnates.

by dimpleddarling



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Greek Mythology AU, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Modern Retelling, Romance, Slow Burn, au - Hades and Persephone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleddarling/pseuds/dimpleddarling
Summary: Following her father's death, Riza Hawkeye is lost. No purpose, no dreams, no direction to her life, nothing but her father's final letter and his gift: a slip of paper, pink ink spelling out an address and a phone number. She chases the address to Mustang Manor, where the mysterious Roy Mustang welcomes her with open arms and a secret smile.But there's more to Mustang Manor than she had originally realized, the hints of a mysterious mythology behind the Victorian style walls, in the gold-plated spines of books, in the ruby pearls of the pomegranates sitting on the kitchen.And it is Riza Hawkeye's time to take her place.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes, Lan Fan/Ling Yao, Mei Chan | May Chang/Alphonse Elric, Rebecca Catalina/Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	reincarnates.

**Author's Note:**

> i rewrote this lmao

Riza Hawkeye stared up at the ceiling, blinking here and there, almost as sporadic as the drips of water that echoed faintly in the bathroom a room away. 

It wasn’t a particularly remarkable ceiling in any way or form, more of the standard grade popcorn ceilings, white paint hastily slapped on to cover the ridges of the jagged wall. The popcorn design had always irritated Riza, but instead of shaving it into a smooth surface like she desired, she had left it. For good purpose too, it gave her something to focus on during times like this. 

In reality, Riza didn’t want to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling. But then again, she didn’t quite know what she wanted to do other than that either. Her body felt heavy, sinking into the mattress that so lovingly called out to her, but for once, her brain was empty. 

The only sensation she felt was pain, and that too, only at certain times. It would manifest as a twinge in her heart, sometimes soft, other times jagged, and the outcomes varied. Sometimes she stayed still other than pressing a hand to her chest, as though to say “Calm down.” Other times, she gave in, breaking the dam that contained her emotions and allowing herself to cry. Never loud sobs, never that. She’d cry, allowing herself a few sniffles here and there and tears to roll down her face, but other than that, her mourning was rather contained. 

It had been three days since her father’s death and Riza was still in mourning. 

It wasn’t like she hadn’t anticipated it: the brain tumor that had been found was an aggressive sort. Riza had been forced to watch as the man she knew as Berthold Hawkeye faded away into a shell of a man, vacillating between mania and depression even on his good days. When he was lucid, they had talked about the future, his inevitable death, but that didn’t meant that the process got even easier. 

But Riza didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. She had a high school education, and had grades good enough to get into a good university, but her father had taken precedence. Now she was left by herself, no goals or ambitions to motivate her towards anything. 

Three days in bed had given her a lot to contemplate about. 

Slowly, Riza pushed herself upwards into a sitting-up position, her hands rubbing at her eyes. The dryness of her skin was a clear reminder that she needed to take a shower—and take care of herself, really. 

But there was something that she needed to do before she could get to that part. 

With her back firmly pressed against the headboard, Riza reached over to the nightstand wherean envelope rested. Long and narrow, her father’s familiar handwriting graced the smooth side, addressing its contents to her. She knew that her father had been working on a letter of sorts: he had been hunched over, scrawling, refusing any help that she could have offered him in his final days, but she hadn’t wanted to open it.

Opening it would mean that he was truly gone, and she wasn’t sure how she could cope with that fact. 

_Stop being such a baby_. Riza thought, grimacing at herself. _Dad wouldn’t be pleased with you dawdling around. Open the stupid letter._

Riza took the sharp edge of her pinky finger and slipped it in the small space between the flap and the body of the envelope itself. The flap tore neatly, exposing its contents for Riza to peruse. She pulled out a long piece of paper that had been folded into fourths, and a small slip of paper, the ink pink against the white. 

She decided to read the paper first. 

_My Dearest,_

_I know that in the years I have been your father that I have costed you a great amount of burden, especially with my sickness. I didn’t mean it, dear, I intended you to lead a very different life._

_I know that my mortal body is giving up soon, and I thank him sincerely for hanging on for so long. But my time has come, and I hope that you don’t mourn me when I pass, dear._

_If you’re reading this rendition, it means I have passed without providing enough for you. I’m sorry, my dear. I tried to save, but…you know how it goes._

_In the event that you need help, I have attached an address and a number of a young man who respects me very much. He’s completely trustworthy. Be nice to Mister Mustang, if you choose to call him._

_Be happy, my Riza._

_Berthold_

Riza blinked away a few tears. _I know, Dad. You tried. I’m not mad_. 

She shifted the papers, pulling the smaller slip with the pink ink into her view. 

1001 Mustang Manor, Santana, 93492, California

No. She wouldn’t think about it. Riza didn’t think about the address at all as she got up for the first time and brushed her teeth, no. She didn’t think about it when she showered or slowly nibbled on a stale piece of bread as “toast”, absolutely not. She didn’t think about the address at all, even as the note slipped between her fingers again and again. 

She didn’t need help. She was doing fine on her own, in an apartment with the leaky sink that never seemed to get fixed, with the cramped bedroom. She was doing fine, with practically no job and a landlord that hated her and the fact that she was days away from being evicted. 

She didn’t need help, not even when she tapped the number into her phone and listened to the ringing tone on the other end.

Riza Hawkeye didn’t need help, not even after three days later when all her things were jammed in the back of her too-small Corolla and the address was no longer on the slip of paper but instead her phone’s GPS, and the too-small apartment with the leaky faucet and landlord that hated her was far behind her. 

The drive was five hours long from the small suburb area that Riza had lived in to the coastal area. Riza found that she didn’t mind the drive as much as she thought she would have—things were admittedly better once there was a coffee in the cupholder and some music playing on the radio. She herself didn’t know any of the pop songs that were being played, but they provided a distraction and she seized it. Here and there, she tapped her fingers to the beats, the simple melodies being quite easy to pick up. 

And of course, here and there, she allowed her mind to wander. Mostly about her father, if she was being honest. If she concentrated, she could picture a much healthier version of him sitting in the passenger seat, cheek pressed against the window and a joke on his lips. Her father had been lively once, and Riza found that she ached for that version of him more than the man who suffered a lot at his end. She did miss him, the small candies he always kept in his pockets, the gentle hand that would squeeze her shoulder. 

Of course, her mind drifted to other areas as well, namely the mysterious stranger she had spoken to.

_“Hello?” The voice had been a gentle timbre, holding a soothing aspect and great authority within the single word._

_“Hi. I’m Riza. Riza Hawkeye. My father gave me this number and told me to call.” She had twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, anxious. Why would her father give her this number? Did this man owe her father a significant amount of money?_

_“Hawkeye….Hm, Berthold Hawkeye’s daughter, right?” When she had made a noise of confirmation, he continued. “What did he tell you to ask of me?”_

_“He passed away a few days ago and left me with instructions to call you if I ever needed something. But I’m not sure what I would need in that context. May…may I also know who I’m speaking to?” Riza asked hesitantly. In her rush to get her questions answered, she had forgotten to ask._

_“My name is Roy Mustang, and I used to know your father. I’m very sorry for your loss. I think your father meant to call on my in the event that you needed a place to stay. My home is quite large, too large for one person only.”_

_“I know my father told me to call, but would that be okay with you?” Riza had asked. A home. Her father had arranged for her to get away._

_“It would be my pleasure, Miss Hawkeye.”_

_“I’ll come by and see the place and the opportunities around. I’ll be arriving in a few days to look around, would that be okay?” First, she needed to see whether or not this man was a creep and whether he lived in a shack._

_“Absolutely.” He didn’t seem at all bothered._

They had exchanged a few more details, Riza had let the last few days at the apartment lapse, and she was on her way. 

It started raining sometime around hour three, and it didn’t stop raining. At first, it was rather light, only a mere drizzle and a slight darkening of the clouds, but at the end of hour five, it had gotten significantly more darker, and the winding roads of the town that she pulled into weren’t helping much either. 

“Your house better be worth it, Mister Mustang.” Riza muttered to herself. Despite telling the man that she would check out his place first, the entirety of her belongings were in the back of her car—a gamble that she hadn’t really anticipated on taking. But still. Riza trusted her father, and she’d have to make do for now. 

By the time she pulled into the heart of the town, it was so dark that the only thing she could make out was the rough shadows and edges of the buildings all around her. The rain was pouring down more steadily, shaking the poor car left and right as it tried to brave the sharp turns. 

Riza herself was exhausted—and she wasn’t sure how it happened, but she closed her eyes for a second, and suddenly she was only snapping awake at the jerk of her car. Her tires had hit the wet surface wrong and lost traction, and was gliding on the water. Riza barely managed to keep herself from slamming down on the breaks, remembering that doing so would put herself in more danger. She pressed on the breaks gently, ignoring the way the steering wheel had gone lax in her grasp and none of the lights in the car were on anymore. 

She didn’t quite understand it, but she managed to veer the car into a small spot on the sidewalk, right where the road turned into a cul-de-sac. She turned the key over, turning off the car, and sat there, a bit shell-shocked at the incident that had just been transpired. 

Riza stared at the dimmed console in front of her, and after a heartbeat, buried her head in her hands. She would have stayed there had not a loud knock disrupted her. Riza’s head snapped up, then around, before locating the source of the noise. 

A man was standing outside her car, holding a dark umbrella. He offered her a smile, one she didn’t respond to. 

Who the hell was this?! Some kind of creep that was trying to lure her away?! Riza had heard of the numerous stories about women being unsafe in their cars but never had thought to believe it. 

The man knocked again, this time a bit more impatient. 

Riza shook her head. Hell no. She wasn’t going outside. “Who are you?” She pantomimed, pointing at him and giving him a questioning glance. 

The man shouted something she couldn’t hear. 

“Huh!?”

Again, he shouted. 

She pantomimed not hearing him, pointing to her ear and shaking her head. 

“Roy!” She heard this time, thanks to his clear bellow. 

Realization dawned on her face. She slowly opened the door and slipped out to stand next to him under the umbrella. 

“Sorry—I couldn’t hear and I wanted to make sure.” Riza mumbled, teeth clattering. It had been so much warmer in the car. 

“It’s good that you stayed in, it’s a good precaution.” Roy said firmly. “I thought someone might have needed help outside, the headlights were shining into my living room. I came out to investigate, and I recognized you. You look a lot like your father.” He said, wriggling out of his coat and draping it around her. “Come inside, it’s much warmer.”

Riza allowed Roy to lead her away from her car and into the house that she had just parked in front of. Ten minutes later, she was seated on his couch, swathed in blankets and a cup of tea folded in between her hands. 

“Thanks.” She mumbled, glad that her shivering had desisted.

“No problem. I’m Roy, and you must be Riza. Welcome to Mustang Manor.” Roy gestured around him. “I can take you around the house now or let you get settled in. I think you should sleep first, though. I promise no harm will come to you.”

“Sounds good.” Riza shook her head in agreement. Despite wanting to cover her bases, a warm bed sounded heavenly, and her lack of sleep had deprived her senses.

Roy took her upstairs to where her bedroom. It was more than comfortable—the bedroom was the size of her apartment, and there was an ensuite attached. Roy told her where the most important things were, and after bidding her good night, slipped out and closed the door behind him. 

Riza didn’t even bother to explore her surroundings before climbing into bed and closing her eyes. 

—

“ _Relax, love_.” A familiar voice murmured in her ear. A pomegranate was in front of her, on the cool granite table. “ _Eat_.” The voice commanded, and Riza felt her dream’s body reach out to grab the fruit. 

But before she could, Riza snapped awake. The darkness of last night had been replaced by an onslaught of light. The room was quite spacious, having a door that may have been a closet and another door which she knew to be the bathroom. 

She took her time, pushing herself off the bed and looking at herself in the mirror, looking around her. The place that she found was quite suitable (okay, super suitable, she had her own walk in closet!!) and was quite pleased.

But there was also the owner of the house, who she knew nothing about. All her things were downstairs and well—Roy would be downstairs too. Two birds with one stone.

She was pleased to hear no creaking as she came down the steps. A look around her gave her the impression that it was an old and established house, but it was very well maintained. And it was less than a “house” than it was a manor, or even a mansion. 

“Roy?” Riza called out hesitantly. 

“In the kitchen.” He called out back to her. She didn’t quite know where that was, but followed his voice anyways. He sat at the counter, a newspaper in his hands, a mug resting near him. The kitchen itself was gorgeous, featuring a continuous corner countertop and a big island. The appliances looked to be rather new, running well. It was gorgeous, simply furnished. A silver spice rack took up one of the corner spaces, a bowl containing nothing but pomegranates sat in the middle of the island. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep well? Can I make you some coffee?” Roy asked, setting down his newspaper to smile at her. The man dressed in dark clothes, she noticed. Who wore a dark suit on a Saturday morning. 

“I did, thank you. Coffee would be great, unless you’re going somewhere…” Riza gestured to him. 

Roy glanced down, surprised before shaking his head and laughing. “No, this is how I usually dress.” He rose, pulling out various items from overhead cabinets. Riza sank down into the seat next to the one that he just had vacated. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” She tilted her head. 

“Go ahead.”

“How do you know my father?”

“I used to be your father’s student when I was younger. I didn’t have any parents and your father supported me for quite a bit. I’m only a few years older than you, but I don’t think we ever did meet.” Roy shrugged. “I kept in contact with him until I moved out here.” He set down a mug in front of her before sliding back into his original seat. 

Riza mulled over his answer before moving onto the next one. “And who else lives here?” 

Roy laughed. “Only me. I’m gone away a lot, though, as per business, and I wouldn’t mind someone watching over the house in my absence.”

“Tell me about yourself—“ Riza demanded, then realized how her tone must have sounded. “Sorry. I mean, could you please?”

Roy waved her off, obviously not disturbed. “As I said, I’m Roy Mustang. I’m 24, and I’m a business man of sorts. More along the lines of collecting. I really don’t stay here much, and I don’t make noise.” He grinned. “I’m very lax when it comes to my house, but I think myself and my family would agree that it would be nice to have someone actually living here.”

“And you wouldn’t mind? Sharing this house with me permanently?” Riza asked curiously. 

“I wouldn’t mind at all. It would be nice to have some company.”

Riza asked a few more questions, but she wasn’t getting a bad vibe from Roy at all. He seemed completely genuine with how he answered her questions, never hesitating or declining to answer. 

At last, she stuck out her hand. “Pleased to be your roommate, Mister Mustang.”

Roy glanced at her for a moment, his eyes searching before softening. “And pleased to be yours, Miss Hawkeye.”

The morning was quite uneventful. Roy helped her bring her boxes inside, but other than that, left her to her own devices. Seeing how there wasn’t much to unpack, Riza spent the rest of the time exploring Mustang Manor. There was a full blown library, various bedrooms and bathrooms, and even a parlor room. The backyard was no different from the beautiful interior. A lush garden was cultivated, a dark fountain decorating the center veranda. Mustang Manor was enormous and gorgeous. 

The evenings were nice. Roy was an excellent cook, taking requests and humming along merrily to the crooning tones of Sinatra on his speaker. She enjoyed sitting at the table, watching him. He allowed her to ask any and every question that came to her mind. He loved dogs, had an affinity for learning chemistry, and didn’t mind that she was rather closed off when it came to questions about her. 

He was rather cheerful and classy, making jokes and wisecracks that she assumed to be in an attempt to loosen her up, but Riza could see those dark eyes, calm and calculating. Not in a negative manner, of course, but she suspected that Mustang was more intelligent than he came off to be. 

He was very respectful about her space, she had to admit. He didn’t automatically assume that she wanted to eat dinner with him, that she wanted to spend time—so it was nice when he asked her if she’d like for him to sit by her. 

She accepted, of course. They talked over an old bottle of red wine that Mustang had found in his stores. 

After dinner, they played a quick game of rummy, secret smiles hidden behind the sharp edges of the cards. Riza was quite rusty, but Mustang was an excellent teacher. Nearing their end of their thirtieth round, Riza yawned. The both agreed that it was time to break for the night and agreed to continue another night. (They had kept their scores in a small brown notebook, ready to be accessed the next time that they’d play.)

Needless to say, Riza was accommodating quite nicely to Mustang Manor. She worried here and there about her means of payment—she wasn’t paying rent or anything, but when she had brought it up to Roy, he had waved her off. 

“We’re friends now, Miss Hawkeye. Friends don’t pay friends.”

She had committed herself to going out and getting a job once her two week mourning period had subsided. 

On the first Friday of her stay at Mustang Manor, Roy left to take care of work related things. That was one thing that he was rather secretive about, what he did for a living.She doubted he did anything illegal, but the suspicion still lingered in the back of her head. Roy Mustang, mafia man. You never knew, especially with the suits, there could be cocaine stashed in the sugar bowl. 

Despite the excitement that she had initially felt at the thought of having the house to herself, she had found herself quite lonely throughout the day. 

The morning was quiet, nothing but the soft sounds of her rustling in the kitchen to be heard within the house. She had choked down her toast, which seemed to stick in her throat more than usual, before retreating to the wide expanse of the library. 

Upon finding out that her favorite place was his library, Roy moved a few chairs into the room, creating a little nook for her. She liked to curl up on a sepia fauteuil chair, her legs hanging over the rounded arm rests. 

She was currently reading Toni Morrison’s Beloved, one of the copies made before the drastic cover change a few years ago. The Manor’s book collection was amazing—once, Riza had stumbled on a first edition copy, something that must have been valued over a million dollars. She had quietly put the copy back. 

Riza was swept away by the magic-realism within the pages, immersing herself in Sethe’s story. Denver had always reminded herself of her, the expectations, the workload. In her eagerness to read the rest of the book, Riza completely forgot about lunch and dinner, the scenery outside changing from afternoon to night. 

When she finally looked up, a nearby clock blared out the time. 

2:30 AM. 

“Damn, Riza.” She mumbled to herself, pushing herself out of the chair. Her bones cracked in a pleasant cacophony, and she stretched, her muscles rippling with the exertion. Maybe it was time to work in something active to her schedule—maybe a run around the grounds. 

But more important things quickly caught her attention. Her stomach grumbled in an uncanny impression of rapid gunfire, and she laughed, leaving the solace of her library to go and sate her hunger. 

She didn’t want to eat something too heavy—a meal would make it harder for her to sleep. The perfect answer caught her attention as she walked into the kitchen, the group of crimson pomegranates glistening enticingly in the dim lighting of the room.

She hummed to herself as she ran the fruit under the spray of the water, before finding a knife. She cut horizontally, neatly slicing the top of the bulbous formation off, before following the natural rivulets that separated the pearls that lay within. Once she had somewhat of a flower-shape, she grabbed a bowl and fork, and sat down to enjoy her treat. 

One wasn’t enough. She finished it quickly, moved onto the second one, and quickly the third. The clock read 4:30 when she looked at it, and all six pomegranates that had once decorated the fancy bowl were gone. 

Riza relaxed, the empty bowl resting against the flat of her stomach, nothing but the slight stain of ruby juices against the porcelain to be any sort of indication of what had just transpired. Her head tilted back, eyes closing in contentment, the hunger fully satiated in her ravenous hunger. She had just moved to go and set the bowl in the sink when she was aware of a presence in front of her. 

Roy was in front of her, a smile splaying on his lips. “Late night?” 

Huh. She hadn’t even heard him come in. “Mmm. Just had a very late dinner. Did you take care of business?”

“I did. You should head up to bed. What did you eat? Any leftovers?” He asked, moving away from her. She heard the opening and closing of the fridge. 

“None, sorry. I ate all the pomegranates in the bowl.” She answered, raising a hand to cover her sleepy yawn. 

He was by her side in an instant, cool hands cupping her chin and tilting her head to look at him. “You ate the pomegranates?” He asked, eyes searching and searing. 

“Was I not supposed to?” Riza asked, tilting her head. 

“A mortal shouldn’t be able to eat them, much less see them.” Roy answered, and that made Riza pause. 

“A mortal? What do you mean, like—“ Riza paused, and then grimaced, a wave of nausea flowing over her. “Roy, I don’t feel so good.” 

His hand pressed against her forehead, and Riza sighed at the coolness. “Hm, I don’t think you should be negatively affected. Maybe because of how much you ate.” It sounded less like he was talking to her and more as though he was musing to himself. Riza felt her position change, her face pressed against soft fabric. A steady arm held her back and another held her legs, and she knew that Roy had scooped her up.

“Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” Roy murmured once they had reached her room, tucking her in. The last thing she saw was Roy’s face contorting into a worried expression, eyes closing as the room lit up with a light that made her eyes hurt. 


End file.
